December 10, 2015

JOURNEY TO THE PORTRAIT’S SECRET #80: July, 30 1946

This series is a little bit biographical and a little
bit imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when
he turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into
Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and
fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always
wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG JOURNEY
NORTH clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click OLDER
ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the last
page.

Tommy Hastings and Freddie
Merrill looked at each other, then Tommy turned to and blurted, “The Socialists are on their way
to kill my mom and steal a portrait!”

Edwina Olds, Lieutenant, WACS
(ret.) didn’t react at all, upshifting once more and then goosing the engine
until they were rumbling along fairly smoothly. She glanced at them then said,
“Remember what I said when I dropped you off in Thunder Bay?” They looked at
each other. Ed grunted, then said, “‘It’s been a fine trip and the two of
you’se have made an otherwise boring drive one of uncommon adventure.’”

“I remember that,” said
Tommy.

“Yeah, well, it seems that
we’ve got a little more ‘uncommon adventure’ still ahead of us.”

“What do you mean?”
“You don’t think I’m gonna just leave you boys to face the Socialists alone, do
ya?”

Tommy and Freddie turned to
look at each other. Tommy said, “You’re gonna help us?”

She glanced at them, winked,
and said, “O’ course. You don’t think I spent all that time in the service just
to see the world and get rich, do ya?”

“But…but…you’re a lady!”
Freddie exclaimed.

Ed burst out laughing,
roaring for several moments while the truck flew down the highway. The sun set,
a long, drawn-out, spectacularly orange affair. She didn’t say anything else
until they reached Isle. By then, the sun had kissed the horizon and then slid
behind it fast, blazing like a forest fire until it vanished. As they angled
west, they passed a resort, Freddie point, slid down in his seat until his
knees touched the dashboard and his words came out squashed, “That’s where we
met the witch. And the Socialists are there again!”

Ed laughed, then said, “Perfect.
Means we turned their head start into our head start.” She sniffed, “Hope they
sleep in late tomorrow morning.”

Freddie was staring into his
lap, scowling. Finally he said, “You’re a lady!” He looked up at her.

Ed flashed him a smile. “I’ll
also be a police officer in not too many months.”

“A cop!” Freddie cried.

Tommy laughed. Ed scowled at
him in the now dark cab. Tommy covered his mouth with both hands, then said, “That’s
not why I’m laughing!”

“Then you’ll be kind enough to
tell me exactly why you laughed.”

Tommy uncovered his mouth,
looked at Freddie, widening his eyes. Freddie suddenly shook his head wildly.
Tommy blurted, “If I don’t say why I laughed, she’ll stop and throw both of us
out!”

Freddie’s eyes almost bulged
out of his head. “Would you?”

Ed scratched her chin, her
hand ghostly green and red in the instrument panel lights.

There was a long silence
broken only by the hum of the tires on the asphalt. A sign drifted past,
announcing that Onamia was only five miles away. Then she cleared her throat,
hawked, rolled down the window, spit, rolled it back up and finally said, “Well
young man, I’m mighty flattered and I thank you, but I’m saving myself for
someone special.”

Freddie’s surly reply was, “Arnie
Voltz. I knew it.”

Ed reached across Tommy and
patted his knee, “If it weren’t for Arnie, I’d take you up on your offer, son.”
She sighed, “But you know how truck drivers and cops are.”

“I don’t know!” Freddie
exclaimed.

“Rock solid, son. Rock solid
through and through.”

Freddie sighed, closed his
eyes and pretended to sleep. As they drove on into the night, his fake sleep
turned real; and Tommy wasn’t far behind. Ed smiled at the boys fondly and
whispered, “But I sure hope I have some boys like you two someday.”

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GUY STEWART

is a husband supporting his wife as a six+ year(!) breast cancer survivor, a father, father-in-law, grandfather, foster father, friend, writer, teacher, and school counselor who maintains a SF/YA/Childrens writing blog by the name of POSSIBLY IRRITATING ESSAYS that showcases his opinion and offers his writing up for comment. He has 55 publications to his credit including one books (1993 CSS Publishing)! He also maintains blogs for the West Suburban Summer School and GUY'S GOTTA TALK ABOUT BREAST CANCER! His Amazon page is here: http://www.amazon.com/ and type in my name!